Flown Away
by icedcooly
Summary: The sequel to Conflicts. Another dark fic, depicting Misao's insanity.


Flown Away by Charlene

Part One: Just Me 

Standard disclaimers apply 

I had a dream last night. It had been a long time since I last had one. I dreamt that Aoshi-sama came back. It was a quiet dream, very dark, very grave. The kind of dream you would expect Aoshi-sama to have, not the kind you would expect me to have. 

It was night, and there were no stars, no light at all. But somehow I managed to see his face as he came in. And it was a face of grim, stern solemnity. I wasn't surprised, I don't know why. But I asked him, in a very small voice, "Why are you here?" I wasn't even eager to greet him, it was so surreal. 

He answered, "To see you, of course." I don't know what I felt, but I do know what I wanted so badly to feel. And that was eagerness. His tall lean figure by the door was suddenly illuminated by a blinding light, like daylight when you wake in the morning. I shielded my eyes, and squinted at Aoshi. I tried to see how he looked, but he wasn't there anymore. There was just this blinding, harsh searing light… 

When I woke up, I was feeling dazed. I felt as if the light had swallowed me whole, that I was still being swallowed. I got up, automatically reaching for the blanket, which I folded in two. Then two again. I rolled up the futon, and placed both neatly at the corner. Why are you here? To see you, of course. 

I decided to go see how Rieko was doing. 

She was breathing silently. Her tiny mouth opening and closing intermittently, her tiny being pulsing with life. With life's energy. I still couldn't believe she was mine, I still couldn't believe she was. Her face was so soft and unmarked, she had seen so little, felt so little, all she knew now was breathing. 

"Misao?" A hesitant call. I turned around to see Omasu smiling shyly at the door. "I'm sorry to disturb you and the little one, but Okina wants to see you." I smiled at her words, "the little one." How appropriate! Something about that endeared me. 

"Wakatta. I'll go see him now." Omasu flashed one of her motherly smiles at me, and replied, "Don't worry about Rieko-chan. I'll take care of her." I nodded. I wasn't worried, me and my baby were safe here at the Aoiya. I knew that. 

I made my way down the corridor, smiling at whoever walked past. Shiro…Okon… then Okina's door came into view. I knocked, and waited for the answer. When it floated past the door that separated us, I slid it open. 

"Jiya." He nodded. Why had I gotten the feeling that this was not going to be pleasant? "Misao. Come, sit down." I obliged, kneeling in front of him. His face was partially obscured by the musty shadows that always hung over his room. I loved his room. Everything about it was familiar to me. Except this wariness, the knowing that something was wrong, and dread at confronting it. That wasn't familiar in the least. 

"I have spoken to Shinji's father, Haru-san." The first few words, and already I felt a heavy leaden weight dragging me down. How much further down could I fall before I reached the bottom? I wondered absently. I glanced out of the window. I didn't really want to listen to Okina right now, or anyone else for that matter. After all, everything that everyone said to me was unpleasant. Things that I didn't want to hear. For instance, he was going to say now, that Shinji's parents had decided to cut off all ties with me. 

"What's so funny?" My head jerked back to him. 

"Nani?" 

"You were smiling." 

"I—I was?" I reached up to feel my lips. I hadn't felt myself smile. But he said I was, so there must be something wrong with me. My lips felt numb. Actually, my entire being felt numb. My hand left my face and came to rest in my lap. Jiya sighed impatiently. 

"Misao, you're not making it easy for me to say this." 

The words, the apologetic wince was automatic. "Gomen, Jiya. Please go on." 

"Haru-san knows about what happened. He knows everything, except who Shinji's killer was. The man—you know? The man who had brought you home when you found Shinji's…" Here he paused, unsure of how to continue. Then, brushing it aside distastefully, continued, "Anyway, he has been taken in for questioning by the police." 

This time my reaction was genuinely heartfelt. "Nani? He didn't do anything! If anything, he helped me get through this! Jiya, he helped when I was in labour. You know that…can't you do anything?" 

I wished I could see Jiya's face. But for those tiresome shadows… 

"Calm down, Misao. They let him go, because they could find nothing suspicious, and they know Shinji was killed with kodachi. Heda apparently doesn't know the first thing about budo. But Misao…here, I want to stop and ask you…do you want to bring Aoshi to justice? You were the last person he spoke to—I'm sure of that. Do you know where he went?" He spoke his words slowly, enunciating the last sentence carefully. 

He peered down at me meaningfully. 

Somehow I didn't feel as confused as I thought I would. In fact, my mind was infinitely clear. I knew and understood what Jiya was saying, but, somehow, I didn't seem to be able to comprehend the words which were coming out of my own mouth. 

"I don't know where he went. But I may have a clue." 

He was taken aback. I could tell because I heard his sharp intake of breath. Was he so shocked that I would betray Aoshi-sama in a split-second? Yes, but I had made it that way, after all. Devoted Misao-chan with starry eyes, trailing after her Aoshi-sama like a little puppy. I felt vaguely that my fist was clenched, but I went on, unheeding. 

"Haanya and the others' graves. He told me about it. I can still remember how to get there…" I'm pretty sure I could remember. After all, I had still been the spunky onmitsu I was then. I committed everything to memory, greeted everything even danger with enthused battle cries. 

Jiya got up abruptly. If I could see his expression, I would have sworn he was trying to get away from me. No, not from me. Jiya loves me. He was trying to get away from this stifling atmosphere. After all that has happened, nothing will be the same for a long while more. Everything will be foreign. But it'll be okay. It'll be like having a new life, starting afresh. And I suddenly felt a yearning need. A need for what? I don't know…maybe some semblance of strength, a pillar of reliability. Something to convince me that what I was telling myself was true. 

"Alright Misao. We'll discuss the rest of this later." He bolted for the door. I watched on. Was he so desperate to get away from me? From the monster that I had become? All I did right now was try to convince myself that change was good, that change was fresh, that change blurred the past and sharpened the future. 

And was I wrong? Nobody seemed to want to give me an answer right now. You're wrong, Misao. Jiya just showed you the answer. He just showed it to you—by walking out that door in order to escape the vindictive embittered shadow of yourself. You see? You're just a shadow of yourself now. You have no claim to Makimachi Misao's name. You're just…nothing. 

But something deep within me that wanted to keep on living wanted…so badly just to be able to live free of guilt and all that represented bitterness and the past. To be free of this tireless black film draped over my life. This tireless dirty film. But in the end you got your wish right? You wanted to be able to share his pain and sorrow and to be able to understand how he felt, so you could comfort him. Well you got your wish. 

I—was I crying? I should be, by now. My past Misao would have started crying by now. I lifted a hand to my eyes, shaking with fear—fear that I would not find what I needed. My fingers came in contact with the cold smooth surface that was my face. They wandered, searched, but didn't find. 

My eyes were dry. 

"Misao, I'm hiring a nanny for Rieko," Omasu said gently when she came into my room that evening. Her words hit me. Hard. "WHY?!" I looked up in hurt confusion. "You haven't been nursing her," she pointed out. 

"I know—but I…I…" I struggled to find words to express the turmoil I felt. "I don't want anyone else to be near her!" Omasu shook her head, smiling wanly, willing me to smile back at her. I couldn't. "Gomen, Misao, but Rieko is too young to take solid food, even if we mash it up. And since you don't want to nurse her—" 

"I will." 

"What?" 

"I'll nurse her. I just—I just need time, that's all." 

"We don't have time, Misao! Rieko is a hungry baby, she'll die if you don't feed her!" 

"Alright, alright. I'll nurse her." 

"When?" 

"Tonight." She paused for a moment, then nodded. Then she came up to where I sat and smoothed my hair down. "You've been tired—I know that. But life will always call you back. And for now, Rieko is your life." Her voice was soft, caring. And I found I couldn't stand to hear her speak that way. As if she were—as if she were pitying me. 

I jerked my head away from her to turn and stare fixedly out of the window in open defiance. Maybe, somewhere deep inside me, I was feeling regret. That I was hurting the one whom I loved and respected, that if I wasn't careful, soon I would lose all that I could call dear to me. But regret was not something I could use right now. It wasn't something that would make me feel better, it wasn't something I could rely on. 

I had learnt to make use of my emotions, and to discard those which weakened me. Now I understood what Aoshi had felt. How much he had needed peace away from everything, because if he didn't, he would lash out at someone sooner or later. He didn't want to, but there are monsters inside all of us. His was just bigger than everyone else's, and mine…well, mine was growing. 

"Rieko-chan?" 

She stirred, lifting her spindly baby arms into the air and yawning, her mouth a perfect little 'O'. She already had a head full of luscious black hair, even though she was just born but a few days ago. Her eyes were Shinji's unforgettable jade green. I looked down upon her, admiring every inch of her. 

Just a while ago, I had been in hell, screaming, shrieking my lungs out, just trying to get her—out of me. Now, it was hard to believe that had truly happened. Because she was real, she was here, and I could touch her. As if to convince myself, I reached my hand out to touch her pretty face. 

As soon as my fingers grazed her cheek, however, she broke into loud screaming wails. Her tiny palms clenched and her face squinched up, red and crumpled. "WAAAAA—" I stumbled back, completely caught off guard. "WAAA—" 

Her screams seemed to snap something inside of me. I don't know what, but it was something that had been strung tautly for a long time, just waiting to burst. "Urusai!" I screamed, falling back onto the floor. Something took ahold of me then. If you asked me later what had happened, I would not have been able to answer. 

"URUSAI!" But no matter how I screamed, her screams were always louder, and now they weren't cries of a baby being alive, they were deafening wails that reverberated through my entire consciousness. They were like continuous blows one after the other, on my mind, and I could not think—and I could not breathe— 

"DAME!" I grabbed her roughly, the one thing in my mind to get her away from me—as far as possible. And with an animalistic snarl, I swung her recklessly away from me. The motion was not smooth, however, for in that split second, my arm had jerked in a second of indecision and uncertainty. And I could never be thankful enough for that. 

For it had saved her life. Rieko landed on a folded futon, stunned and silent for a moment, as her body jarred from the heavy impact. Shock welled up in me, as I stumbled over to see how she was. She was screaming again…always screaming, but no matter. Now was not the time. I checked her for bruises and found none. I knew I should bring her to a doctor, to check for internal injuries, but I didn't want to. What could I say when they asked? That I had, in a moment of madness, tossed my baby in the air? 

I stared down at her. So small…so fragile…hadn't I once wanted to protect all that? I remember now, it was when I had just given birth to her. I said that I would protect her from everything. Because she was part of me, because she was the only thing I was hanging onto for my life. Because without her, I would lose my sanity. Somehow, now, I found myself wondering if that were true. Could a person's sanity depend on another's existence? I stroked her hair, trying to soothe her frenzied cries. 

I don't know how long I knelt there, just smoothing her hair down, lightly caressing her cheeks, until her wails had died down to regular slumbered breathing. 

And then I went outside, where I knew Omasu would be around, waiting to hear from me. When I saw her coming up the corridor towards me, a questioning glint in her eyes, I said, my voice as light as the breeze which carried my words to her, "Hire her a nanny." 

I had been walking about for a while that night. And I had stopped by Okina's room, meaning to tell him to forget about what I had said earlier. But I stopped to listen once I heard hushed voices from inside. Omasu and Okina. 

"She told me to hire a nanny, Okina. To hire a nanny for little Rieko-chan," Omasu said, sounding as if she thought these words were extremely significant. I didn't think they were—that significant, I just thought maybe they were unexpected. Not significant. His reply, gruff and muffled even through the door, was, "Leave her be, Omasu. She has been through a lot these days. I should think she's tired. Hire a nanny for Rieko-chan. Misao will get over this soon enough. I know she will. She's strong." 

"Strong, yes, Okina. She's very strong, but she's still just a seventeen year old. I doubt she is as strong as you think she is, or as strong as she allows us to see her. Okina, I'm really worried about her. There's something wrong—I don't know what. It's not depression, it's something much more." 

She sounded as if she still had a lot more to say, just didn't know how to. I was glad. I really couldn't listen to anymore of this. I was about to walk off, back to my room, when I heard Okina's answer, "Strong or weak, Misao is still Misao. She will get through this. Since when has Makimachi Misao ever succumbed to anything?" 

And I felt sad—sort of, when I heard those words. Not because they were true, no. They were far from true, I knew that now. Makimachi Misao had never succumbed to anything, yes, but I drowned in weakness and cowardice. Makimachi Misao surmounted all odds and possessed inner strength of great amounts, but I flailed helplessly in dark pools of turbulence. Perhaps those words had been true—once. 

That thought was but another drop in the great ocean that had come to rest upon my soul. 

Another week passed until I finally got round to thinking about Aoshi-sama. Scenes of him sitting beside me, telling me stories, or observing my training quietly, materialised in my mind, as I lay in bed staring up at the ceiling. 

That was when I was younger. What happened after that? Oh, he left with Haanya and the others. And Himura had brought him back. And after that? He sat around in the temple…and meditated…and…after that? I couldn't go beyond that. It was strange—the memories from that time seemed to be erased from my mind. 

I tried again. Aoshi-sama helped in the battle against Shishio, and he came back, wearied and bloody. I could remember that very clearly, it was carved into my mind. I cried for him, asked him if he was okay, if he needed any help. And would he please answer me. He didn't say a thing. He let Megumi tend to his wounds but after that, he retired quietly. I remember stopping him at the stairs. 

"Will you answer me, please, Aoshi-sama?" I pleaded. Was I crying? No, the Misao at that time didn't cry. Or she tried hard not to. 

"What is there to answer?" he had replied. His voice as cold and unwavering as usual. He hadn't turned around to face me, so I didn't know how he looked, but I had a pretty good idea. So I left him. Misao wasn't terribly sensitive, but she had feelings too, and she understood that he needed to be alone for a while. 

But she itched, she ached to be with him, to find out all about what had happened to Haanya and the rest. And so she brought him tea, knowing he would shun all other efforts to make contact with him. That seemed to help. I could picture a time when she took him tea and he accepted. No—when was that? Not recently, to be sure. 

I grimaced. I couldn't remember anything at all! I wondered if asking Omasu would help. I wanted desperately to know what had happened after the fight with Shishio. Something told me those days were quiet and peaceful. But something had come—a disturbance. A person? The thoughts refused to solidify, take form into something tangible and readable in my mind. That frustrated me to no end. 

I should know what had happened, because that period of time was important. It held the reason why he had left. I know that that was important to me, because he was important to me. So why couldn't I remember? 

I let out an irritated growl, then turned to face a mystified Omasu. "Misao? What's wrong?" I debated whether to tell her, then decided to. I needed to know what happened and why I had let all this evade my memory so easily. "I just—I tried to—I can't remember what happened," I finished lamely. 

She frowned. "What do you mean?" 

The words were hard to form. "I can't remember why Aoshi-sama left." 

She paled at that, though I couldn't imagine why. "What do you mean?" 

I bit my lip at that. Why wouldn't she answer me if she knew what I meant? I knew she knew what I meant, so why wouldn't she answer me? I didn't understand why people did that—asking you what you meant when they understood. It was a waste of time, playing around with words. "You know what I mean." Impatiently. 

She left the room. I was annoyed. Why did she leave without giving me my answer? Or didn't she know it? That must be it. She didn't know the answer. But still, she could have said that she didn't know. What was wrong with people nowadays? My patience was wearing thin. 

The next thing I knew, there was sobbing and the sound of a gentle masculine voice comforting the source of the misery. It was familiar, somehow, reminded me of— 

I had no time to complete the thought, for Okina came into the room. Stormed into the room, rather. He didn't look very happy. 

"Misao!" He grabbed both my shoulders in a death grip and shook me. Hard. "Why did you do that for?" I shouted, my patience finally snapping. I couldn't take it anymore. The people around me were strange, so impossibly incomprehensible. They didn't used to be like that. They were kind, caring— 

"What is going on? If you won't tell Omasu, maybe you'll tell me!" he roared, still shaking me. He was livid. I was almost off the floor by now, lifted up into the air and being rattled around like I was some kind of doll. "Let me go!" I struggled. I kicked at him, for I was at a disadvantage, and I didn't like being at a disadvantage. 

He dropped me when I got too much to handle. "Do you want me to hit you?" he asked, his eyes glittering strangely with some kind of drunken fervor. God, he looked like he was possessed. That scared me, for I knew now he would hit me without a second thought. He was crazy, like everyone else around me. They were all insane. 

"What do you want?" I returned, furiously indignant that I was being treated this way through no fault of my own. "I want to know why you've been acting this way! I want to know why you won't nurse Rieko, or help around the Aoiya! I want to know why you haven't been training with kunai, why you don't talk nicely to anyone anymore…" His explosion had slowly died down to a plea for understanding and reassurance. 

I studied him. I think he expected me to blow up or something, but I didn't. For what was there to fight over? I could see now, he wasn't really insane, just very confused. Like I was. So there really wasn't anything to fight over. 

And I told him so. "Do you think this is a fight? Oh, Misao…" he crumpled to the ground. I felt sorry for him. I crawled over and embraced him, and he let his heavy arms fall around my waist. "I didn't do anything you know…" I whispered softly into his shoulder. "I just wanted to know why Aoshi-sama left…that's all." He didn't answer. I guessed he was tired. I was, too. But I went on. I wanted to explain things for him, ease his confusion a little. 

"You see, I forgot why he'd left. I don't know why, I just did, and Omasu didn't want to tell me, so I thought she didn't know…I suppose you don't know, either?" I waited for an answer, but there was none. "Ah, just as I thought. It seems like that period of time almost didn't happen. Except I know it did, and I know it was important, so I needed to find out. But it's almost like it didn't exist, right? So, maybe we could just let it be…" 

It seemed like I was comforting him now, like he was a baby and I was a nanny. I half smiled at how funny things could turn out. All I knew was that he was special to me, and I wanted to calm him, soothe him, because I loved him. 

He was resting totally on me now, his weight sagged against me. But I didn't complain, although it did hurt a little. Finally, when I thought I couldn't feel my legs anymore, he said in a funny strained voice, "Yes, we should just let it be…" His voice was all choked up, so I knew he was crying, but I didn't know why. 

And then his body began to heave with silent sobs. I was alarmed at first, because men didn't cry unless they were very hurt. And even then they didn't cry like this—so heavy, so violent. And then I began to ache for him. I didn't know who had hurt him—maybe that Omasu, but I held him tightly, and he clutched me back, his anguished convulsive gasps muffled in my shoulder. 

Then I began to rock him in a gentle lulling motion. "Shh…shh…" He seemed to want to cry even harder at that, but I did this for a long time, and so the sobs began to subside after a while, and he was able to stand up and walk out without a word after that. 

I think a lot nowadays. All the time, I'm thinking. When people walk past and ask me what I'm thinking about, I tell them, "Things." When they prod for further explanation, I just shrug and turn away. And they accept that. 

I'm so glad they don't force me to look in their eyes and tell them exactly what's going on, because I don't think I even know it myself. And if I told them that, they wouldn't believe me. So I'm glad they don't ask. 

My favourite places to think in are my room and a certain garden way back in the Aoiya where the flowers sway in the wind, and the pond sparkles, and the fish and birds play for you. That garden is pretty much secluded and quiet, which is what I need right now. That garden is reminiscent of many things. Somehow, it smells of a person I used to know. Close to me? Yes, very. 

Every flower, every pathway seems to almost emanate him. Once again, I could not place a name to the murky image, but I didn't fret. I was getting used to it now, not being able to remember names of people and places. It took getting used to, but when you have, it's really not so bad. 

Living without names or figures to confuse, without language or titles, just images and endless trains of ponderous thought. 

Maybe I don't think as much as I observe. I like watching. I watch the birds watch the fish, and I watch Omasu doing the dishes, and sometimes I even watch Shiro and Kuro practising. They did everything as if they had to, as if it was already planned and they were just carrying out orders. But they were not—you know? They were doing all this of their own accord, as if life was just meant to be this way. 

All these duties, all these chores went about in a roundabout way. Wake up, breakfast, chores, lunch, more chores, dinner, then rest. And the next day over and over, for as long as they lived. I didn't wonder if they tired from it, because they weren't. I just wondered if life was really meant to be this way, so simplistic and straightforward. 

If you want to do that, do it. If you want to take that, take it. People take you as you are, but expect you to be like them, be one of them. But we are individuals after all, and we have our choices, ideals and wants. And everyone has a name, and everyone is somebody, each a different person with a character and a body to call their own. 

But sometimes I think we're just deluding ourselves—you know? Life could never be that simple. We're just bodies with souls—as we like to call it—under a film of hazy disillusionment beyond which lie fortresses of unfathomable wonders. Places where things you could never imagine in this life, trapped in this net of this reality, happened. Who are we to give ourselves names and say we are each different from the other when we are living in something we cannot even comprehend? 

You say you are content to continue pretending, or living as you call it, without trying to discern the lines of reality and delusion. But the thought of living not as an individual, but as one of them, disturbs me. So why don't I drop the curtain, rip through the film and find out the truth that lies outside and finally savour what every ignorant being dismisses as too wide and unknown to ponder, therefore an unattainable illusion? 

That thought bothered me the whole evening, and the whole night, and then the morning after. I didn't rest—how could I? I wanted to give up the act, but I couldn't. I was too much of a coward. But to give up the act…well, it's simple. A piece of glass, a tall building, a katana, take your pick. 

Suicide takes getting used to. You don't do it the first time you contemplate it. It's not the kind of thing you can do on whim. It takes motive, planning and opportunity. I had the motive. Now all I had to do was plan it out and wait for my opportunity. 

I decided I wanted it painless. I was a coward, you see. Maybe I didn't deserve to die, after all. Cowards didn't deserve to die, and I was ashamed of it. If you want to do it, you gotta do it so you make sure it works. And pain isn't something you should be afraid of. So early one morning I sneaked into the weaponry room and got myself a katana which I smuggled back to my room. 

I could feel the weight of it in my hands, bearing me down, cold and hard. This hardness would pierce through the tender skin on my neck soon. This coldness would envelope me in a heavy cloak of darkness and pain. That is, if I put it to my neck. And would I? Yes, I would. I would. I owed it to myself to do this for what was living without meaning? 

People speak of the meaning of life as if it were some great unsolvable mystery, some incredible mystifying enigma. It never did occur to them that maybe there wasn't a meaning to living, did it? Well it occurred to me. And that was why I was doing this. And that was why I had to do this. 

All this spanned out in my mind in the space of two minutes—the time it took to get to my room. I set the katana down on the ground, then knelt down in front of it. Was this the way I wanted to die? No, better make it further into the room. I didn't want someone to hear my scream—if I screamed, or to see blood flowing out the door. Because if they did, they'd spoil the whole thing, ruin a perfect chance. 

If that happened, I knew I would never have the courage to try again. 

I chose a spot way back in the room, in the dusky shadows. I unsheathed the black sword, admired the way it shone at different angles in the darkness, and how it caught the light on its reflective surfaces, and practised putting it to my neck. How did it feel? Cold, very cold. And steely, unbending, unyielding…slicey. 

That's it. Slicey. It would slice through my neck in a second, and I wouldn't have time to yell. I thought of how it would pierce my tender skin, then of the red blood spilling from my white neck, and then the tendons and veins and bones it would encounter. I tried to imagine the pain—first a thin line of cold fire, then growing deeper and more agonizing. I couldn't. I couldn't imagine how I could die. 

Then I thought what if I dropped the katana before it went deep enough to count? That would be disastrous. No, I wouldn't do that. If I wanted to, bad enough, I would—nothing would stop me, and besides, I had a good slicing arm. I was used to slicing people—why not myself? 

I took a deep breath, and lifted the heavy weapon. It was time. I pressed the sharp edge lightly to my neck. I could feel its smoothness and I trembled at its icy rigidity. Do it! I ordered myself. The whole room seemed to swarm in on me all at once. First the room, then the Aoiya, and then the world. 

It all came in a rush, a tide of merciless reality and I was stunned. No, don't put it down. DON'T! I closed my eyes for a moment. Then the moment elapsed into moments, and then into an eternity. Defeated, I put the sword down. Silently, wrathfully, I hid it away in my room. I would try again …I had plenty of chances…now was not the time…I could do it later much quicker and easier… 

I hate myself. 

I did try again later on. I tried many times, many different ways too. And after a while, I gave up. I could never do it. After a while, I stopped hating myself for it too. Instead I spent my time tormenting myself. 

Couldn't do it again? You want to live, don't you? Say it, you—want—to—live. 

No, I just haven't had the opportunity. 

Give it up. If you must be a coward, at least be a truthful coward. 

These things take time. 

Yeah, keep saying that to yourself. 

And then one morning I woke up with an inspiration. It was the chance I had been waiting for ever since I first contemplated killing myself. Even before I opened my eyes, when the hazy dazedness of being awake after several hours of darkness was still fresh on my mind, I knew it. 

I would take one of my poisoned kunai and stab myself with it. It was perfect. I smiled quietly to myself for thinking such a wonderful idea. I wasn't crazy—no. So don't think that. People tend to label the unknown, weird or unattainable not even worth thinking about. Foolish ignorance. I was closer to the film than everyone else. The film that protected us—or kept us?—from finding out the true truth. 

I was clawing away at the forbidden pouch that surrounded us, swathed us, choked us when we wanted to breathe…truly breathe. It was difficult and trying, so people who had once attempted that, eventually gave up. I pitied them, for they would never know what I would know soon. 

My kunai was in the built-in cupboard in which I kept my battle gear, now dusty with unuse. I didn't spare them a second glance as I reached purposefully for the set of tiny daggers on the shelf. I wondered why I hadn't thought of this earlier. Oh, I hadn't had the inspiration then, I reminded myself. 

Inspiration was what I needed to help me complete what I had started. 

I stared at the kunai, now in my hands. I couldn't stop smiling, I was so pleased with myself. I was sure people would laugh if they found me lying on the floor dead, with this maniacal grin on my lips. Immediately my lips snapped back into a straight grim line. Death, or dying, was not something I could be flippant about. 

I fell to my knees with a bump, my gaze transfixed greedily on the bunch of metal in my hands. Once again, I asked myself the question I had asked each time I tried: Was this the way I wanted to die? 

Surprise struck me, as I realized that I now thought of the question differently than all the other times. "Was this the way I wanted to die?" the very first time I took the katana and all the countless other times, meant "Is this a suitable place and position to do this?" 

But now…now it simply meant what it implied. Was this the way I wanted to die? I was appalled at how contrasting both my perceptions of the question were, how different I had felt at both times. 

Is this the way you want to die? 

Yes. 

Is this the way you want to die? 

Yes, yes. I've tried so many times. It's now or never. 

Is this the way you want to die? 

I will, so don't stop me. 

You're not answering the question. Is this the way you want to die? 

A deep hollow emptiness washed over me. It wasn't heavy, and it wasn't light either. But the way it made me feel…so resigned, so enraged, so…tired. In my greed-ridden quest for the "truth" I had found nothing but a barren and vacant void within myself which had been, if nothing else, widened. Widened til it was just a large unfillable hole. 

Tears of frustration filled my eyes. It wasn't the world, it wasn't anything but me. I was the one who was unfulfilled and destitute. I was nothing but a spoilt child, crying out to be filled, crying out to be understood. Tossed around, toyed with by none other than myself. My weak mind. I let out the tiniest of whimpers, which grew into a great gasping breath, and then noisy uncontrolled sobs. 

I was desperate to get the truth away from me. It now loomed above me like a piece of hot glass, burning me, until I could feel no pain, no loss. Shriveling me up like a dried leaf. I couldn't hear myself scream, "Fill me!" But I shouted it over and over in my head until it formed words, a single voice banging against my head, screaming to be let out. 

I couldn't hear him enter, and I couldn't hear him run toward me. I couldn't feel him embracing me, rocking me to and fro, pressing the sleeve of his shirt onto the wound on my wrist. The sleeve of his black shirt, now darkened further beyond repair. Like I was. Now tainted beyond purity. 

The light beckoned to me, soft and ethereal in its glow. As I widened my eyes in awe to receive it fully, it suddenly grew at an alarming rate in sharpness and weight. It pierced my eyes, it pressed down on me. Down…down…down… 

"Misao!" 

The light was now colour, blobs of strange floating colour that swiftly melted together to form the embodied image of…of a man. A man, with dark hair that fell over his blue eyes, and who was wearing black clothes. 

"Hello," I said. And smiled. He was good looking. 

He was over me, his face twisted with fear and anxiety. I was puzzled. What was he so scared of anyway? I smiled again at him—reassuringly, to assure him that there was nothing to be afraid of. It seemed to work because he relaxed, and sagged onto a chair that was just next to the bed I was lying on. 

"Daijoubu ka?" 

I nodded, wondering why he should have cause to wonder such a thing. 

"Good. You've been unconscious for three weeks now." 

"NANI?!" I shot up, the words registering like hot wax, numbing my mind. I quickly regretted my action, because blood seemed to rush into my head all of a sudden, and the smoldering hotness of it scorched me achingly. 

I grimaced, falling back onto my pillow. He stood up again, an expression of concern on his face, a word of gentle reprimand at his lips. "You shouldn't make sudden movements like that," he rebuked, shaking his head in disapproval. I narrowed my eyes. "And who are you, to tell me what to do?" I challenged. 

He blanched. I could see it clearly, the colour leaving his cheeks as quickly as shadows flee from sunshine. "What?" I asked softly. 

He blinked, the stunned expression on his face unchanged. "What?" I said again, becoming impatient. Finally, his reply came back to me—foreign words from foreign lips. "They told me you had forgotten, but I didn't—dare believe." 

I frowned. It was happening all over again. People talked of things I had no clue about, and stormed off when I didn't understand. I didn't want—that. I know I thought I did, and even said I did, but I don't. Not this. Not anymore. 

"Look," I began, my voice unsteady not only because my tongue felt thick and furry in my mouth from unuse, but also because of the chilling premonition that made its presence known by stealing down my back in icy trails. "I don't know what you're talking about, and neither do I care. It's starting over again, and I don't want that. Hear me? I said, enough of this nonsense." 

He would walk away from me. I know it, I know it. He would walk away from me, leaving me with unsaid words and then come back with more trouble. A crying lady, a furious old man. That was what happened the last time. 

The room was so deathly still that I could hear him swallow. "Misao…" "Who are you?!" I screamed, an outburst even I did not expect. Breathing heavily, I tried to glare at him through the fast materializing veil of tears. I had had enough of being misunderstood and unanswered, of being stepped upon and wronged. 

I bit my lip so hard til I couldn't even feel the pain anymore, and watched him watch me sadly. After the threatening tears had disappeared, I calmed down a bit. I decided I would give him a chance. After all, I needed my answers and he was as good as any to take them from. "Please tell me…what's going on…" I implored, my voice trembling. I needed to know so badly because to live without these answers would be to live without my humanity, or what made me human. 

"Misao…I'm Aoshi-sa—Aoshi. Can you remember me?" he asked gently, peering down at me with those gentle blue eyes from which the tranquility of a flowing stream beckoned invitingly. I shook my head, still wary of him. He let out a huge breath he had been holding and gave me a full open smile. "That's okay. Don't worry about it. You injured yourself a few days ago and that's why you're lying in bed." 

His smile forced me to trust him. His friendly countenance convinced me that he was not here to cause trouble for me. 

"My name is Shinomori Aoshi and I'm—a friend of Okina's," he introduced genially. "Okina?" I repeated aloud. The questioning glint in his eyes was swiftly curtained by the knowing and understanding that I had craved for so long in another. 

"Okina. He's your friend too. And so is Omasu, Okon, Shiro and Kuro." 

"How—how come I don't know them?" 

"They'd been gone a long time. You must have forgotten them." 

"Oh." 

"Anyway, you're living in their house now, and they're taking care of you." 

"Oh." 

"Do you know Rieko-chan?" 

"No." 

"Well, she's a baby that lives here too." 

"Oh." 

"So, how're you feeling, Misao-chan?" I was greeted with a chorus of these sentences when I came down from my room a few days later. Aoshi had announced me well enough to venture out of my room and around the Aoiya—the house that I was living in together with the rest of my friends. 

They were a jolly group of people, friendly and funny as soon as I got to know them. What Aoshi said had puzzled me. I was sure I wouldn't have forgotten such good friends even after five years—the time he said they had been away. 

But after a while, I began to detect a strange inexplicable kind of wistfulness in them that I did not share. It was strange…I really couldn't describe it. It was like when they were in the middle of a sentence, and they'd just stop and look at me, their eyes clouding over with some kind of…regret? 

Or sometimes something would flash in their eyes and when I asked them what was wrong, they would shake their heads and say, "It's nothing. Forget it." I was getting increasingly frustrated, and so usually left to sit in the garden alone or to talk with Aoshi. Aoshi had become a really good friend to me. He never gave me those weird looks and he didn't make me feel like he knew something I didn't. 

One day he caught me idling by the pond and said solemnly, "You know, Misao. We really should find something for you to do." I nodded, anticipating his suggestions because he had come to be a bright part of my life. 

"I think you should start taking up ninja lessons." 

"WHAT?!" I was incredulous. "Wha-what are you saying? I could never be a ninja! Are you out of your mind?" He gave me a knowing smile and said darkly, "You never know, Misao. You never know." 

And so I took up ninja lessons. But only because of him. He told me that Okina and the others were once ninjas in a band of onmitsu called the Oniwabanshuu and that it would be good if I took up something like that for self-defence. 

He taught me, with Okina supervising the whole thing. We started off with simple exercises which I got past easily, and then more advanced things like stealth techniques and how to move about in crowded places or on roofs. 

I was indignant at first, refusing to learn something that would be of no use to me, but he persisted. I found I could not refuse him when he asked me for something because he had been…because he was…I don't know, because he was a good friend I guess. 

The weeks passed, until finally Aoshi presented me with my own weapon—the kunai. He called me out one morning saying he had a surprise for me. Half asleep and groggy, I stumbled out onto the training grounds where he held out a small package to me. "What is it?" I asked, taking it from him. 

He just smiled. 

I tore open the paper, impatient to find out what was so special about it, when I saw the bunch of small sharp daggers nestled in its wrapping. 

The world tore apart. All I could see was the gleam, the wicked gleam they made in the sun. The sharp points that glittered with cutting severity. I dropped the package, the clink on the ground echoing in my ears. Echoed…echoed…until they were an ear-splitting blast of screaming sound, two blunt and heavy knives stabbing into my ears. 

He caught me as I fell, I screamed. He told me to hush, he held me as I hit out at him. All I could hear was this shrieking cacophony that bludgeoned my consciousness over and over. It took me a long time to realize that the shriek was my own. 

"You can take up the nunchucks, or the kodachi, there's no need for that…if you don't like it, you can always learn to use something else…" 

I shook my head. He nodded. 

And the world was whole again. 

I didn't continue my ninja lessons after that. Nobody mentioned a word about that incident, until I overheard Omasu and Okon chatting in the kitchen one evening. I wanted to ask for some bread to feed the fish because they looked so underfed in their weak attempts to span the pond. 

"Do you think—it might have been a good thing, Okon?" 

"Hmm?" 

"That Misao lost her memory, I mean." 

"Huh? How can it be a good thing? Are you crazy?" 

"No, gomen, but I—I—maybe it's better for her." 

Pause. "Maybe." 

"It was the kunai. She had been trying to cut herself when Aoshi-sama found her." 

"I know." 

"It may be a good thing for her, but I miss her. I love her, Okon." At this point, Omasu broke down, and Okon ran forward to comfort her. I could barely breathe. Oh, the rage those words triggered in me! 

"Are you questioning my sanity?" My voice was at once low and dangerous. So much so, in fact, that I could not recognize it as my own. 

"Misao-chan!" 

"Misao!" 

I don't know how I looked as I advanced on them, but I was sure I made a pretty frightening picture, because, like a careless unthinking drop disrupting the placidity of a pond, their words had woken a deep hot anger within me that refused to be smothered or denied. "Well, are you?" 

Omasu jumped in, saying quickly, "No, Misao! We—" Here she stopped because, I was sure, she had no other words. Omasu and Okon. I thought they were my friends, but they were nothing but spiteful venomous creatures. "What excuse can you give now?" I taunted. They had doubted what made me whole, mentioned it as if they were talking about the weather, criticised and dismissed it like it was nothing on earth. My sanity, my mind, was the core of me. They think I am not one of them? They think I am crazy? 

"N-no, Misao. You're mistaken—" 

I felt so utterly suffocated with hate that I could barely breathe. I wanted to scream at them, hurt them the way they had hurt me. 

"What's going on?" 

The calm smooth voice I had come to trust. The one who could resolve this, I was sure. Okon and Omasu shook their heads, their faces full of terror. "Leave us for while, please," he requested quietly. They left. 

He turned to me. I was still shaking with fury. Why had he not rebuked them? 

"What was that?" 

"They were talking about me behind my back. They said I had lost my memory and that I had tried to cut myself. Aoshi, they said I was crazy." My face felt tight, even as I forced the words out through clenched teeth. It felt strangely plastic, like it wasn't mine, and belonged to a mannequin or something. 

He paused, I watched him. His quiet undemanding gaze shifted away and I felt something inside me crumble. Was he going to think I was crazy too? I couldn't bear it if he did. He was the only one who understood me, looked past the uncertainty and hesitation, calmed me down, touched upon and explained my fears. 

"Do you doubt me too?" My voice was small, hurt, so different from just now. I just needed him to believe in me, that was all. 

He didn't answer. I slapped him and bolted. The Aoiya jolted with every running step, then the village, then the trees. So many trees…so much endless green. When I stopped by a stream to rest, I stared at my reflection on the silvery, moonlight-rimmed surface. I saw a girl with dirt on her face and hurt in her eyes. Then the large round moon behind her head gazing back mournfully and the huge black spaceless sky. 

Were they questioning my sanity? I threw my head back and laughed out loud, a kind of hollow laughless laugh that bounced off the sky and trees forlornly. It felt good, to be able to laugh like that. So free and relaxing. 

Were they questioning my sanity? No, they weren't, after all. I was. 

He found me and took me back without a word. I could see nothing on his face, but that was what frightened me. Aoshi, always so happy and laughing and approachable, his face now closed to me. I didn't dare say a word, for fear he would…oh, I don't know, for fear he would hate me, I guess. 

But hating was better than this—this choking silence which permitted no words, no sound, simply tight taut wordless stillness. This Aoshi I had never seen scared me. 

Finally, when he left me in my room and turned to go, I couldn't stand it anymore. I said very quietly, "I'm falling again, aren't I?" I don't know what prompted me to say it. A mild frightened part of me I suppose. One that had been suppressed, hidden, kept from showing itself because of the thick curtain of pride. 

He didn't stop, and neither did he turn around to acknowledge my words. He left, sliding the door shut behind him. I wanted to run after him, scream and cry just to get him to notice me, to treat me like he used to. I didn't want him to hate me—no, anything but that because I adored him! I was sorry I had ever done what I did. 

But it was too late now. I bit my lip and went to unroll my futon. The peace-loving night would smoothen the ruffles, I was sure. By morning everyone would be fine, because time was a mediator. 

I woke up earlier than I ever had for a while. I sat in bed, staring up at the ceiling, musing how different it looked in the dusky shadows of the morn. I sat there for a long time, these strange thoughts running through my mind smoothly like a meandering stream over a flat smooth rock. 

Thoughts that I'd not had for a long long time. It was as if I'd awoken with a totally different mindset this morning, a different me with a different mind complete with different thoughts. Today I didn't feel resentment or confusion. I felt transparent and clear, a piece of polished glass which had been rid of the blemishes and spots, and was now being looked through by admiring passersby. People who saw that what they had once seen was not what it was, it was only the glass that dirtied the calm cool scenery which they now so eagerly welcomed. 

The sun's golden rays were dancing with the shadows on my ceiling when the door slid open gently. I looked up questioningly, to meet Aoshi's soft blue eyes. My heart leapt with hope that he had forgotten what happened last night. 

"I've been selfish," were his first words as he stepped toward me. Those were words I had not expected. My gut twisted agonizingly as I realized he was blaming himself for a selfless act I had committed without thinking. 

"I've been selfish, Misao. I need you so much, I couldn't bear it when you ran away. I was so scared that you had gone forever. And when I found you, I was so angry—so angry! That you had run off without telling anyone. You know how that made me feel? Do you, Misao?" 

Remorse so scalding it threatened to overflow like molten lava from my throat. "I'm sorry," I whispered hoarsely. "I'm sorry." I felt like a child, small and vulnerable. And perhaps, in some strange way, I was. He let out a breath he had been holding and wrapped his arms around me tightly. 

Who was I, to be such an ignorant impulsive fool, to have someone who loved me this much? Not worthy…I was not worthy of any of this. 

But I held on, clutching tighter than he, simply happy in the knowledge that this was happening. I had found someone to love, who loved me, and whom I could hold on to when I fell. I smiled through my tears, the smile taking over my face, my soul. 

A slow soft warmth shrouded my being, and I closed my eyes, listening and breathing the sweetness of it heightening my senses. No, I wasn't dying anytime soon. Feeling this unspeakable rapturous gladness, being able to look at the world and savouring—even if just a little—of its much reserved glory, that all sounds more like I was living. 

I kept my eyes closed, blissfully secure in his arms. 

For when I felt his presence around me, and if I just closed my eyes and imagined in the velvety black infinite universe that was ours to create in, I could almost feel like I was standing on solid ground again.

Notes: Okay, come explanations are definitely in order. I know this is like a complete change from Conflicts, but I felt like this was the only direction I could take the story. I wrote this in Misao's POV because it would have been difficult to describe her going insane from a third-person perspective. It gets a bit abrupt and cut off at times, but this *is* being told by an insane person's POV. You must be wondering what happened to Aoshi. Well, the next part is the whole same story over except in Aoshi's POV. And, *sigh* yes, I've decided to forgo all that "A and M should never end up together" in this story. I guess I've just stopped deluding myself that that could ever happen. T_T 

  



End file.
